“What was her story?” Emily wished upon wish it was there, that she could read it, discover the very first one she ever wrote.

“Quoi?”

“The one she wrote here.”

Madeleine smiled. “It was about a woman who lived at the edge of a forest, trapped by her own fear of the outside world. But at night she turned into a bird and soared high above the earth, looking for her long-lost love. Do you know the story?” Madeleine asked as they went back downstairs.

“No,” Emily replied, seeing that the café was now half full of people, most of whom stood by the door, listening to the sound of someone singing. The tone of voice was like butterscotch, sweet but with a bite, and it weaved through the air to slip inside of Emily without warning, reaching a part of her that had been ignored and neglected for as long as she could remember.

She found herself moving through the small cluster of early risers who had gathered to listen and went outside to see a man sitting on a woven metal chair with a half-drunk coffee on the table next to him.

It was Tyler. His fingers moved deftly back and forth across the strings of the guitar, conjuring up a rather mournful song. She watched the movement of his lips as he played.

The song came to an end, and he nodded his thanks to the small audience and their soft ripple of applause, picked up his guitar, and ambled over to Emily and Madeleine.

“Are you blushing?” he said, creasing his forehead.

Emily’s hand rushed to her cheek. “What? No, I’m not.”

“It looks good on you,” he said, before turning to Madeleine, placing one hand on his chest and giving a little bow. “Enchanté, madame, you must be Madeleine?”

The two of them fell into an easy conversation, all in French, and Emily tuned out the words. She stopped trying to listen to what was being said, but rather intuited through the subtle movement of eyes across to her, the dip of Madeleine’s face, the slow blush on her skin as Tyler gestured to the shop behind.

Tyler always had been at ease with himself. Charming, with the ability to talk to anyone and, if all else failed, Emily now realized, he had his guitar. His voice did more than simply carry a tune, it was deep and rich and full of emotion, but it was more the rhythm of his fingers, the soft vibrations of sound he created, the concentration on his face and how he lost himself in the song, that made her pay attention. It was hypnotic, and it only made him all the more attractive.

But underneath it all, she could now see a boy afraid of disappointing an overbearing father. Someone who first played to try and make the doubts, the fears, go away. Just like she did with her drawings, losing herself in another world, where her feelings didn’t exist.